Mr Wammy's Boys
by ancazur
Summary: It was a typically cold English night when a young, dark-haired boy was first escorted to Wammy's House. He tries to understand his new life in a world where nothing makes sense, where everything he's known has changed. DN prequel.
1. Chapter 1

_Part One_

It didn't snow a lot in England. The winters were usually a mess of slush and rain, the atmosphere too damp to create anything like the white, fluffy snow of fairytales. But maybe that's what this was. The snow fell in heavy flakes as he stood outside the vast, iron gates, holding the hand of an elderly gentleman he didn't know at all. This couldn't be real; this had to be a dream. The old man squeezed his hand.

It felt real.

But that meant he was really here, that it was really snowing, and that mum and dad were really dead.

* * *

Mr. Wammy—the elderly gentleman whose name was on the building—showed him to his room. He didn't think he would get his own room. There was a big bed, and a shelf filled with lots of books. He went to the shelf immediately, recognizing some of the titles and curious over the ones he didn't know. He was aware of Mr. Wammy standing in the doorway, watching him take in his new surroundings. He looked out the window. They were on a high floor, and he could see down into the playground. There weren't any kids out now, being nighttime, but he liked watching the snow fall to create a white blanket over the ground. It was accumulating quickly.

"Do you need anything?" Mr. Wammy asked, and he shook his head in reply. "Get a good night's rest, then. You've had a busy day."

_Busy_, like he had been doing something fun, not like he had watched matching pine coffins get lowered into the ground.

He opened the closet, but there wasn't a lot in there. He finally took off his coat and scarf, carefully hanging them on a hanger, making sure they didn't touch the other clothes because they were still damp with snow. There was a pair of white pajamas folded neatly on a shelf, which he changed into. They were a little big on him, the sleeves extending over his hands, but they were flannel and warm. He scrambled into bed and gripped the edge of the blanket in his fists, holding them to his chest.

Mum and dad didn't have any brothers or sisters, and neither did he. _This is best for you_, Mr. Wammy had said. _You'll have a good life at Wammy's House_. They took him out of school and everything, though he didn't understand why. He was at the top of his class, even after skipping a grade. But Mr. Wammy said that everyone was smart at Wammy's House, that they had their own classes and good tutors. Maybe this _was_ best for him. Maybe he wouldn't be teased for being smart or small or weak.

He turned to face the wall, scrunching his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. It would probably be okay to cry now, now that no one was around to feel sorry for him. But he didn't want to. He had cried enough over the past week, and his eyes were tired. _He_ was tired, but he didn't want to sleep. The burial played over and over again in his head, and he was acutely aware that it had happened only that day. But if he were to sleep, it would mean today would be over. It would mean that the next time he woke up, he would start a new life that didn't include mum and dad, and he didn't want that at all.

* * *

Mr. Wammy himself woke him in the morning, even though his name was on the building and probably very busy. They went down to breakfast; he forced himself to eat some toast. It had no taste, but he ate it anyway. He would have much preferred to stay in his room alone that day, but Mr. Wammy had other plans—they had their first lesson, and the moment he stepped into Mr. Wammy's office he knew that he would be okay.

He loved the office immediately. It was just like in films, with a big desk he couldn't see over and bookshelves all around the room. It was a corner office, so light from the tall windows crisscrossed the floor to form diamond patterns. He snuck a peek outside. It had stopped snowing, and it looked pretty. No one had gone outside yet, so the snow was still new and untouched. It looked fluffy, not like the usual dirty slush of England winters.

He sat in one of the guest chairs before the desk and to his surprise, Mr. Wammy sat in the one beside him. He didn't sit behind the desk in his big, leather rolling chair. He sat next to him, like a companion, not like a tutor at all.

"Are you ready?" he asked. He could have said no and he guessed that would have been okay, but he nodded instead. When Mr. Wammy smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkled like paper. "I knew you would be."

His schoolbooks were big and heavy, but very interesting. He already knew a lot about maths and language, so Mr. Wammy didn't teach him any of that. Today's lesson was more like puzzles, and he liked figuring things out. He was presented a list of facts, and he had to find the solution. It was easy, but fun. There were moments that Mr. Wammy looked surprised when he gave a correct answer. He liked showing off a little, especially when Mr. Wammy would smile and tell him how well he was doing.

He was almost disappointed when the session was over, but he knew they would be doing the same thing the next day as well.

"Very good," Mr. Wammy said, rising from his chair. "That will be all for today. You can go down to the playroom, if you would like."

At first glance, the playroom was weird. He stood in the doorway as he looked for a potential companion, but everyone seemed to be grouped together already. He wasn't very good at starting conversations, but he saw a bookshelf and a window seat and immediately formed a solution. He was confused by the bookshelf at first. There weren't many kids books; a lot were classics that he had only heard about, but never read. He selected _Crime and Punishment_ at random and huddled into an empty window seat.

_On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. Bridge._

It was a good book. The characters had long names he couldn't pronounce, but he liked the story. In between chapters, he would look outside. Some kids were now playing in the snow, throwing snowballs at one another and creating a mound that he guessed was supposed to be a snowman. They piled it too high and couldn't reach the top to put on a hat. He smiled despite himself.

Mr. Wammy had to come find him for supper, because he never showed up at the dining room. He stood beside the window seat, looking down at the book in his hands.

"That's one of my favorites," Mr. Wammy said. "Are you liking it?"

He nodded vigorously.

He went to return the book to the shelf, but Mr. Wammy insisted that he bring it back to his room. "There is nothing quite so disquieting as having to abandon a good book."

He smiled, clutching the tattered pages to his chest.

He still didn't much feel like eating, but Mr. Wammy promised that if he ate all his chicken, he could have a piece of cake. That brightened up his mood. Not only did he had a piece of cake, he had _two_, and he was allowed to bring a box of chocolates back to his room. The other kids couldn't know, though that wouldn't be a problem—He didn't _know_ any of the other kids yet. But his tutor walked him to his room, talking about _Crime and Punishment_ the whole way up. He thought Mr. Wammy would leave when they reached his room, but he came inside and closed the door instead.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, but he didn't know how to answer. Mr. Wammy crouched down, holding both his shoulders in his big hands. "The way you're handling this is very brave," he said, trying to keep eye contact with a boy who didn't want to look up. "Please know that you can talk to me whenever you want. I'm here for you."

He suddenly hugged Mr. Wammy, surprising even himself, clinging to his neck as the elderly man's arms wrapped around him. "There, there," he said, patting his back, but he couldn't say anything because he was crying so hard. "I know."

But he couldn't know, could he? He couldn't know how much he missed his mum and dad, and he couldn't know how lonely he felt not talking to anyone, and he couldn't know how much he wanted everything be normal again. But he only nodded, accidentally leaving a trail of snot on Mr. Wammy's jacket. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand when he pulled away. Mr. Wammy smiled, and he felt better seeing his crinkling eyes.

Mr. Wammy wouldn't leave until he was feeling a little better, at least, and he was almost sad when he was alone in the room again. But he had his flannel pajamas, and the box of chocolates and _Crime and Punishment_, and he didn't even have to keep the light on to read because the moon was so bright that night.


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two_

"L, are you ready for your lesson?"

_L_. A new life, a new name. He nodded.

They had all but abandoned the textbooks, though he rarely looked at them anyway. Mr. Wammy sat behind his desk and pulled a manila folder from the stack on the corner. He laid out its enclosed items one by one—a handwritten letter, a scrap of fabric dotted with rust-colored stains, a couple color photographs. The photos were jagged around the edges, like they had been burnt, but he could see the subjects' faces well enough.

L kneeled on the chair, still not being quite tall enough to see the entire desktop. He read the letter; it looked to be romantic. He blushed a little when he put it down to study the photographs.

"Notice anything?" Mr. Wammy asked.

He noticed a lot of things—the burnt edges of the photos, the obvious bloodstains on the fabric. A piece of a shirt, it seemed, judging by the stitching. A shoulder? Turning over the romantic letter, he noticed a small cluster of bloodstains on this as well.

"This lady was murdered, likely stabbed in an area above the waist, but evidence was planted to suggest suicide."

Mr. Wammy nodded. "Very good."

It wasn't apparent when lessons went from being _lessons_ to solving cases, but L much preferred the latter. Mr. Wammy quickly caught on to what he did and did not like, and as the weeks progressed it was L himself selecting what he liked to work on. His little room transformed into an office, stripped of most its furnishings—he found them cumbersome and distracting—leaving only his bed and a computer set up on the floor.

But he still hadn't found anyone he could connect with besides Mr. Wammy, despite his initial desires for a companion. He avoided the dining room entirely because he didn't want to be seen eating alone. Mr. Wammy didn't mind, though, and personally delivered sweets to his room. L liked the sweets; they helped keep him awake, working long after the other children went to bed. There were nights he didn't sleep at all, if he was engrossed in a particularly fascinating case. The work helped him ignore his need for companionship, and after time he didn't notice the other children at all.

"L," Mr. Wammy said, poking his head into his room, "why don't you go outside for a bit? The fresh air would do you good."

He gratefully complied. The timing was right; he was having trouble sorting the evidence of a difficult case. A year had already passed since his arrival at Wammy's House, and he wasn't at all surprised by the damp, slushy weather outdoors. The cold wasn't too bad as long as he kept his coat on. But Mr. Wammy had been right—the fresh air _did_ feel good, and he closed his eyes as he envisioned the oxygen circulating through his lungs. He wasn't allowed to leave the grounds by himself, but the property was big enough that he could separate himself from the shrieks of the playground and not get in trouble.

He walked the perimeter, keeping close to the wrought iron fence, his hands deep in his coat pockets. On the other side of the fence, people were rushing by on the sidewalk and not even looking at him. In fact, it seemed they were avoiding Wammy's altogether, averting their eyes from the towering orphanage. He was only vaguely concerned.

"Hey there." L jumped; he thought he had been alone. He would have to ask Mr. Wammy about fine-tuning his observational skills.

A boy was standing right behind him. Rather than feel alarmed by his sudden appearance, L was impressed that he had been able to approach undetected. "Hello."

The boy tilted his head slightly and smiled before holding out a hand. L stared at it curiously before shaking it. "You must be L."

It was a silly observation. Everyone knew who he _was_, even if they didn't talk to him. "Yes, I am. And you are?"

He grinned wide; L could see all his top and bottom front teeth. "You can call me A."

"A?" He wiggled his ungloved hand back into his pocket. "Another letter? That is interesting."

"Do you mind if I walk with you?"

"Not at all."

The boy was a little hyperactive, bouncing in his steps and glancing at L when he thought he wouldn't notice. L may have been staring out beyond the borders of Wammy's, but he could feel A's stare every time. It was like the boy knew something he didn't, and he found himself slightly annoyed. They said little on their walk around the grounds, but L enjoyed the companionship regardless. He was slightly disappointed when A had to rush off to class when they returned to the building, waving as he was carried away in a sea of children. L turned down a different hallway, heading straight for Mr. Wammy's office.

"Who is A?" he asked, before Mr. Wammy looked up from his desk.

He motioned him in, unsurprised by his outburst, and L closed the door before taking a seat. Mr. Wammy calmly explained that A was a new boy, just as he had been, and that he was very smart like himself. Mr. Wammy admitted that he was grateful A had approached him, hoping the two could be friends and learn from each other. The explanation was acceptable to L, even though Mr. Wammy was obviously leaving out some important fact. He hugged his knees to his chest as he rocked on the chair, thinking.

"My assignments are not just school work, are they?" he asked. "These are real cases."

Mr. Wammy nodded, which only confirmed what he had suspected. He felt better, though, knowing the truth rather than relying on speculation. There were a lot of things at Wammy's House he could not comprehend—why most of the children attended classes, when he did not; why the younger boys all shared a bedroom, while he received his own; why he was allowed to each whatever he wanted and received an endless supply of cakes and sweets.

"Your name is known outside Wammy's, L," he said. L stopped rocking, clutching his knees tighter. "You have already solved many cases that top detectives have been unable to crack." This, too, he had suspected. "But you must never reveal who you are to anyone outside this orphanage. It could put you in grave danger."

He tilted his head, his unruly hair falling over his eyes. "Why?"

"Criminals do not like hearing of detectives with intelligence such as yours. If you leave these walls, you must use an alias. Though I would prefer you not leave at all unless accompanied by myself."

"What's _your _alias?"

He smiled. "I am Watari."

L liked that name a lot better, so he started using it even inside Wammy's House.

He didn't see a lot of A. Occasionally he would walk by classrooms, but he never saw the boy inside. He saw him once, in passing, as he left Watari's office, and A had waved frantically before heading in for his own lesson. But he noticed something decidedly different about the boy, even if they rarely spoke. He had seemed so eager and outgoing when they first walked together, but there was already something weary behind his smile. He thought to ask him about it, but that required social graces he did not yet understand.

Instead, L spent his free time in the playroom's window seat reading the same books, ignoring the same children. It was not by choice that he ignored them; he would have liked to befriend someone. But more and more they backed away from him, like they were afraid. Afraid of what? His intelligence? His companionship with Watari? He tucked his legs beneath him and wrapped his arms around _A Study in Scarlet_ so the others couldn't see it. It was a silly book, anyway. He knew the solution halfway through the story, long before Mr. Holmes did, but he kept on reading to busy himself.

He brightened up a little when he saw A wandering the playground outside. He wasn't doing anything in particular, just kicking around some rocks with his hands in his pockets. L took in a deep breath, returned _A Study in Scarlet_ to the shelf, and went outside.

"Hello, A." The boy perked up at his name, smiling as L approached.

"Oh, hi, L! Haven't seen you for a while."

Without having to ask, they settled into a walk around the grounds. L enjoyed these walks; it was like getting away from everything without actually going away. Despite his initial reservations, he rather liked Wammy's House.

"I see you've begun lessons with"—L paused, though slightly—"Mr. Wammy." He was unsure whether the other boy knew his alias or not.

"Oh, yes! Aren't they great? I'm learning ever so much."

L frowned, though, as he kicked a wayward stone out of their path. "Do any of the other children study with him?" He knew the answer, of course, but already his deductive reasonings were hard at work.

A shook his head. "No, it's only us." But then he moved to block L's path, causing him to stop short. They stared at each other, both searching the other's face. Yes, there was something different about A. He was a few years younger, but looked older for some reason. And his eyes were sad, even if his mouth was smiling. "Don't you know, L?"

"Know what?" But even as he asked, he knew. The other boy didn't answer, simply grinned when he noticed the spark of recognition in L's eyes.

_Your name is known outside Wammy's, L. You have already solved many cases that top detectives have been unable to crack._

He understood more than top detectives. Therefore he _was_ the top detective. And here, standing in front of him, was a boy receiving the same training that he was, who Watari had praised as being just as smart. He recognized the weariness in his features, his eyes already rimmed in dark shadows like his own.

"But why wasn't _I_ named A?"

The boy laughed. "Who knows? L sounds cool. Besides, then I'd probably be called B, and that doesn't sound very impressive. Like you're not as good or you're a backup or something."

They resumed their walk, easing around the path back toward Wammy's House. "Do you talk to any of the other children?" L asked, aware that he sounded desperate, but not caring in front of A.

"Not really," he answered. "There's not a lot of time to make friends, you know? Besides, I think you're the only one who really gets me."

L bowed his head when he felt a smile betray him. "Maybe I am."


	3. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

L never saw A again.

There was a small cemetery on the grounds of Wammy's House, and L took to visiting it daily after his lessons. He didn't like to think of the buried children, of the orphans who had departed this world early to visit their parents. He sat at the fresh grave, hugging his knees as he stared at the single letter engraved on the headstone: _A_. He hadn't been sick. He wasn't diseased or anything. But L knew, even if Watari wouldn't tell him. He had noticed the strained smile the last time they spent time together, when they kicked rocks around the playground, when he learned he was meant to be his successor. His _backup_. He didn't want another successor, ever. He didn't want anyone feeling like that again.

"L." He had heard Watari's approach, but didn't move from his spot. "Come, let's go inside. It's getting chilly."

He stood, brushing the dirt from the back of his jeans. Automatically he took Watari's extended hand, even though he hadn't held it since the day of his arrival. It felt smaller ,but L knew his own had really grown larger. Watari tried engaging him in conversation but he didn't want it, so they walked back to Wammy's House in silence.

Now the other kids _really_ wouldn't look at him as he walked the hallways. There had been one boy who maybe could've been a friend, but was now six feet underground. The others teased him a lot now—bumping his shoulder as they passed, or rearranging the bookshelf so he couldn't find anything—but he ignored it, keeping his head down. They meant him no harm, he knew; they were merely afraid. When he wouldn't respond to their taunts, they eventually went back to ignoring him.

He didn't care, though, because he had his work. He was a real detective, and he had real things to concern himself with. He sat amongst piles of folders scattering his floor, and he continued to sift through them to find the most interesting cases.

There was a knock on his open door, which took him by surprise. Watari wouldn't knock if it was open; he'd walk right in with a new case or his daily dose of sweets. But when he looked up, there was an unfamiliar boy standing in the doorway. He was skeptical; it was obvious he was being studied. But L knew who he was even before introductions were made, and felt that this boy, too, understood something that he himself did not know.

"Mr. Wammy sent me up to say hi," he said, walking in without an invitation. He looked down at L's messy piles, shrinking back like they would attack. _Neat freak_, L immediately thought, staring up at him curiously. The boy didn't offer to shake his hand like A had; he shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm B."

L felt his stomach lurch, like he was falling; it was an odd mix of curiosity and fear. _Like you're not as good or you're a backup or something._ He smiled evenly. "Hello, B. I assume you know who I am."


End file.
